


His Hallelujah Fell on Deaf Ears, so he Learnt to Make them Listen

by Annonninnouse



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Warning and rating subject to change, ships can be read as platonic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29817837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annonninnouse/pseuds/Annonninnouse
Summary: Morality is such a finicky thing. Preached from the rolling hills, rooftops, anywhere where one can stand on their soapbox, society calls for one to be the good guy. So many think they are good. He did at one point too. For much longer than he should have, honestly.---Or, that one fic of the dream smp timeline, but it's a little sad and a little sweet and it maybe at one point it went the fourth the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)





	His Hallelujah Fell on Deaf Ears, so he Learnt to Make them Listen

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a happy piece. It made me cry multiple times when writing it. Although there are bright moments, shooting stars in the dark sky, they are not meant to last. I kind of wanted to write this as an omniscient piece, looking down at the tragedy of the server, how it went from this happy and beautiful place to one of chaos and pain. 
> 
> This is not only a sad piece. Although it hurts, there are good bits too. The chaos and pain make the good all that brighter. The ending is sad, but that ending is not rooted in permanence. The server is not over, why should we say it is? Have hope, for you are not alone. We are not alone.

Morality is such a finicky thing. Preached from the rolling hills, rooftops, anywhere where one can stand on their soapbox, society calls for one to be the good guy. So many think they are good. He did at one point too. For much longer than he should have, honestly. 

Inherently, good and bad are defined by the world they live in, who is good, who is not. The good guys save the day. The good guys protect the people. The good guys don't kill people. The good guys don't blow up nations thrice over. The good guys don't exile children. But do the good guys exploit the villains until they yield? Do the good guys wage war over drugs? Do the good guys commit arson? Who really are the good guys? 

Fluid and unchanging, society's morals shift like waves. Always returning to certain troughs and peaks, certain undeniable principles. However, these waves aren't always composed of the same water. It takes time, but what once was pure salt and water and the occasional fish may become tainted. Seafoam fills it's top, sandy grit and coral remnants dance throughout it's body. Many preach these values here too. Do any of us really know what they are at this point though. 

As the complexities of her hand play out, each card adding a new twist to the game, it becomes harder to call a true villain, it becomes easier to call a true villain too. The king of perspective slips down, we never saw his. The 5 of eggpire comes soon, manipulating what we thought was true. Next is the ace of memory, lost by many, one could say. The seven of government, a scoff heard in the background. The jack of alliance falls finally, completing the hand. In no certain terms, the voices thought of what it meant. The masked villain was wrong they cried, the boy was too young, he's slowly forgetting, it wasn't his fault. Did you forget how it began.

He woke up alone, the world new and beautiful. Uncaring in it's stars, loving in it's sun. He soon was joined by another, in a time where they cared. They adventured around, before gods, before kings, before time travellers and marriages and wars and love and hate and everything in between. It was two. 

The first few days were bright and cherished, the pair dancing around each other, despite the newness of their souls, despite what was to come. It was exhilarating. 

Trees fell to axe, stone filled their pockets. Their tango led to the first of many iconic pieces, a places to gather, a place to call home. They named it the community house, filling her with the beginnings of their journeys. Not far from where they woke up, right in the middle of that lake, glistening in the sun's benevolent light, shining down upon their souls, still white and innocent and pure. 

As the days and nights and in betweens began to journey by, the duo became less alone, more faces joining their world. The kid with the bandana and the silent man with all the bitches were next. Then came the pets and Sam and Alyssa, their ranks began to fill up. Life began to flourish and develop as it does, civilization expanding without knowledge, without surefire belief in its nature. Establishment was nary there, yet the people began to fulfill roles. The builder, the farmer, the collector. All would share the duties, all worked together, all a big happy family. 

Soon came another, his mask hid away his smiles, brown eyes filling in the gaps. Finally, the man of irony completes the original eight. Antics and jokes begin to fill their time, days and nights and in betweens filling in their time. The pair dance with each other ever still, less lonely than before, more lucky, more hopeful. Dawn is bright and loving and cares for her children. 

He was good then. At least, he seemed to be. Carefree and happy, he worked with his friends and family to build beauty. Blood would be yet to marr the land, flags yet to fly, hate yet to spew from rose lips, hearts yet to bleed, lives yet to test. He was good, in his eyes, hidden behind a mask and a smile, wheezes filling hot air at simple mistakes and other nonsense. The man with the glasses was good and so was he. Life was good. 

There was simplicity then. There is not anymore. Good was good was right was good. Bad was bad was wrong was bad. There wasn't complexity, wasn't pain, wasn't suffering, wasn't tear tracks and and heavy hearts and anger and maliciousness. It was good. 

\---

Time is funny in a way, they always continue forwards. One can preach of constants and developments and everything in between, but a fact of life stands firm. Time is the only real constant. That, and death, one could suppose. But that is a story in the future, one we shall journey to soon enough. 

Day turned its clock, running from horizon to horizon, as they filled her landscape with little intricacies, a wooden path here, a church over there. Months passed and they grew older, wiser, yet still the same pure and good souls they started as. 

The lull that came after eight was peaceful. However, as time walked alongside the sun, it would not last. They began to wake up, the child came first, blond hair and bright spirit and all the tragedy of a greek hero lay in wait. 

The server was bright and gold, a young tree with bark of light and hope. As the child joined, however, chaos wound it’s silver hand around it’s trunk. Not yet squeezing, not yet blackened and painful, still bright, still lively. Chaos added life to the world, it was good. 

Four more opened their eyes soon after. A boy of peace and hope, of friendship and bees. Energy swirled around him with the youngster who joined before he, the pair knit closely together, friends on the field and off it. A boy of royal color, a man of mixed loyalty, and a man of foxy appearance followed soon after. Despite their different appearances, all joined the server in joy and fun. 

Houses began to take over the grassy landscape, filling in the areas beside the walkway, different construction projects springing up. Here a lemon tree, there, beneath stone and dirt and maybe the occasional flower, a secret base. Resources filled chests, prized possessions did too. 

Maybe it was the materialism that corrupted. The covet for simple possessions, the desire for green and purple and grey. Maybe it was the desire for power. The want for control, to have the ability to outplay the other. Maybe it was all. Maybe it was none.

Motivation can be mused over for years, upon soapstones where opinions spring forth like water from a fountain. Words fall upon deaf ears, however, the warring parties seeking their prize regardless. His soul was once white and pure and good. It was not anymore. 

Just as Lucifer fell, he began to lose altitude. Dream was human at first. All blood, all bone, all emotion and passion and love. He was known for his heart. He cared for every person at first. For his friends, some more than others. One especially. His partner in the beginning especially. Kind brown eyes and an even kinder soul, the masked man did at one point know how to love. 

As his wings spread though, as people began to awake, began to build, began to experience, he began to see. Began to want. Lucifer did not fall from grace within one word. Rome did not fall in one day. The first crack in the frame came from the discs.

Of vinyl and glory and mystique, there were few things in the world considered as rare. Long ago, before the wars and bloodshed, before the pain, before the events that transpired across fields and forests and everything in between, there were the discs. When combined with a diamond and some wood, each disc would play a tune. At one point many loved them for their sound and beauty. However, that is not the tale of this story. The discs here live in irony. Singing beautiful melodies, their tragedy none of which. 

The child would gain two of such, unknowing the weight they would hold. The masked man would find them and steal them, leading to the first war. Small skirmishes took place, eventually the child, eventually Tommy regained the disks and hid them. 

Would Tommy have done it? If he had known what was to come, would he have done it? Were the discs worth the trauma? The anguish? The suffering? The hopelessness? If only he knew. 

The world was still bright, it’s members still joking around, still happy. Dream still with conscience, George still present, Sapnap still remembered by his friends. 

Just as it happened before, it happens again, time moves on. It’s funny in a way, if only they knew. More builds rose up, more development occurred, more memories were made. 

More faces woke up, just as they always did. The pretty boy with a siren’s voice, a siren he did become. The ram did too, a surprise for the child. The man of diamond joined, quickly growing close to the man of irony, deemed Bad by many. The two grew close as old friends, despite their few interactions that the world’s still-kind eyes witnessed. The era was completed with one final member, the first king of the server, Eret. 

Time flew by, a castle arose, and life was still good. It’s funny in a sense, of what would soon come, of what would soon be remembered, of what would soon fall. If only they knew. 

He was still good then. Not perfect, not white and pure anymore, but he was still good. He could still be a dream, in a sense. A wise protector of the server. Dream was flawed, but so was everyone else. If only. He played with his friends, with George and Sap and Bad and everyone else. Life was good. 

The goldeness of the server wasn’t as bright anymore. Tinged by fighting and chaos and the beginnings of war, it dimmed a little. If only they knew. If only they knew. If Only They Knew.

**Author's Note:**

> Songs of inspiration:  
> \- Stars, Les Miserables  
> \- The Story of Tonight (Reprise), Hamilton
> 
> This fic is intended to follow the progression of the SMP, but kind of from this detached narrator, who's seen it all and is the sad kind of numb to it or something like that.


End file.
